The Very Heart of Darkness
by Beanacre0
Summary: This a piece written for my Modernism module in my Creative Course. Marlow is an experienced social worker in his late thirties. He has been called in to investigate a ruthless gang and find out what happened to the young social worker who went missing six months prior. With his past hanging over him, how will he fare? Kurtz and Marlow do not belong to me. Oswald and Mary do. AU


This the first time I have attempted a Heart of Darkness story. I hope I have managed to pull this off alright and I hope you enjoy it :)

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**The Very Heart of Darkness**

Charles Marlow stared out of the train's window as it sped down the curved railroad through the city. The landscape was bleak and grey with towering office blocks and flats each fighting to be the ruler of the skyline. Marlow sighed and ran a hand over his worn face.

He gazed at his reflection in the grubby glass with marked disinterest. He surveying the black circles framing his eyes and the wisps of grey hair emerging early in his neatly kept dark mane. His eyes, he was sad to note, seemed haunted with the sights many hoped never to see but he had seen far too many times before. Even to his own eyes, his form screamed of exhaustion.

The train screeched to a halt and Marlow followed the hordes of travellers onto the already crowded platform. He squeezed through the tide of people as he picked his way to the entrance of the station. His keen eyes soon spotted a chubby man holding up a sign with his name on it.

"Mr Marlow?" The cheery man greeted him, his dull brown eyes shining and a bright smile lighting up his rather plain face.

The cheery man held out his hand and Marlow gave it a firm shake in greeting, but didn't reply. His companion was unsure whether he was being rude or was simply too tired to reply. He decided to ignore this and proceed.

"Did you have a pleasant journey?"

Marlow nodded abruptly. "It was fine. Long."

"Yes, well, it can be a very long trip." The man agreed. "Thank you for coming. The agency said you were the best they had."

Marlow studied his companion. He was dressed in a neat suit and his hair was perfectly kept. A shiny name tag was hanging around his neck on a lanyard identifying him as H. Oswald. They had spoken on the phone a couple of times before, but Marlow had always requested he speak to his regional manager instead.

"Social work is a trying game." He said. "I'm sure you have discovered that by now."

Oswald coughed. "Well, yes, that is true. It is especially bad in the middle of the country's major cities."

"Have you worked on many cases, Mr Oswald?"

Oswald's cheeks went pink. "Uh, not really. That is to say, I…I primarily do desk work."

"I see."

Oswald recovered quickly. "Did the agency tell you why you were sent here?"

"Something about a gang." Marlow replied.

Oswald led Marlow out of the ostentatiously decorated station into the grimy streets of London. The air was thick with fumes and the dirt of the city seemed caked on every surface. Old chewing gum painted the once pale pavements a dingy grey. Even the cars driving by appeared to have not been spared the effects of London's filth. It was plain to see that this was not the nice part of the capital. This was the heart of the dingy depths of the city.

Oswald's car was old and rust was creeping up on it, spreading out across the once white surface like some kind of tumour weakening the metal. Marlow said nothing as the passenger door squealed alarmingly and painfully as he opened it. Oswald, on the other hand, winced and apologised profusely, claiming he had been meaning to get it sorted.

Once seated in one of the city's famous traffic jams, Oswald took the opportunity to fill Marlow in on the case he had been assigned.

"The gang you have been allocated is one of the worst in London. Their leader is manager to one of the biggest drug networks in this part of the city." Oswald began. "He took it over from his father when he passed and started his own gang. He's only seventeen and the boys under his command range from eleven to seventeen."

Marlow felt surprise race through him. Some were so young. How had their lives taken this devastating path?

"While they are young, they are ruthless. In some ways, I think they are worse than adult gangs. They know no limits, they have not yet learned the boundaries, and their methods are very _creative_." Oswald continued, sighing heavily.

As their journey continued, Marlow silently thought about the gang and what to do, ignoring Oswald's attempts at conversation. He didn't find it necessary to inform his companion about his childhood or his current home. It had no relevance to the case at all so was not worth talking or thinking about.

Despite being so deep in thought, he watched carefully as Oswald negotiated the streets of the poorer part of the city with a practised ease. He noted how run down the buildings got the further they went and how the level of graffiti increased steadily. Some were fantastic and imaginative pieces of art while others were just crude scrawls of names or words. It seemed odd that he couldn't see many people walking around. Actually, he couldn't see anyone! It wasn't late so he would expect to see a few wandering round going about their business.

Oswald took an abrupt turn and pulled up in a small car park. He stopped the car. Marlow studied his surroundings. The car park had a good view of the main street and they were surrounded by several other cars, each with various degrees of damage. They made the rust on Oswald's car look minor.

"What are we doing here?" Marlow asked.

Oswald reached into a briefcase behind his chair and pulled out several thick files. He handed them to Marlow before returning his gaze to the street.

"Those are the files pertaining to the case." He said. "You'll need to know about the members of the gang before you start. This is the best spot to see them. The group are so confident that even our presence means little to them."

Marlow opened the first file and began to read. The photo showed a skinny boy with slightly sunken in eyes and pale skin. His head had no hair to cover it and he was scowling. He was dressed in a pair of baggy jogging bottoms and a loose black hoodie. The file said his name was Ryan Dale Jr. He was the leader of the gang and had been arrested multiple times, but each time another of the gang members, all of whom he had the case files for, confessed to what he had been arrested for.

'He's really got a tight hold on his group.' Marlow thought, frowning.

The last file was different. The photo showed a well-dressed young man in his mid-twenties. Even in the stationary picture it was clear to see he wasn't confident. His shoulders were slightly slouched and his smile seemed nervous. His blonde hair was sculpted into a fashionable cut and his hazel eyes were focussed off to one side.

"That's Kurtz." Oswald announced suddenly. "He was the social worker assigned to the gang. We lost contact with him about six months ago."

"He's young."

"Yeah it was his first case, but he had high marks in his degree and the boss was short of people. We thought he could handle it." Oswald seemed regretful. "I don't know what happened to him. No one's heard of or seen him since his last message."

He fell silent and he tapped Marlow's arm insistently. Marlow looked at where he motioned and saw two young boys. One looked no older than twelve and the oldest looked about fourteen. A knife glinted menacingly from the younger boy's waistband and the oldest was running his fingers over a gun that was poorly hidden in his pocket. Neither boy appeared to care about what would happen if the police turned up and that seemed to send a shiver up Oswald's spine.

Marlow had seen it all before though; a long time ago.

"Your best bet will be to talk with the younger ones first. Once you gain their trust, they'll let you closer to the rest of the gang. You should be able to help from the inside. Be a listening ear and a helping hand if-"

"I know." Marlow interrupted. "I've worked a job like this before."

Oswald chuckled nervously. "Of course, you've been doing this job for almost fifteen years. You know what you're doing."

Marlow stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the boys. A woman with a child was walking down the road towards them. The two boys smirked and flashed their weapons, scaring her, and she crossed the road holding her child close to her. The two boys just laughed, fist bumped and carried on.

"No respect." Marlow muttered.

He returned to that spot several times to watch out for the boys, making sure to rent a car as old as Oswald's had been. He soon found they had a schedule and quickly memorised it, planning how to approach them. Of course, he'd have to be careful with what he said or did. Boys that were this unpredictable and that were wielding weapons were very dangerous to be around and Marlow didn't fancy dying in his late thirties. He'd pictured himself dying in his old age surrounded by family, if not his own family then his sister's.

The two boys walked closer to where Marlow was leaning against a lamp post. He watched them keenly but made no move towards or away from them.

"Oi, move it." The older boy snapped.

Marlow didn't move.

"I said, move it." He snarled again, pulling out the gun and levelling it at Marlow.

"Don't bother. That doesn't scare me." Marlow replied coolly.

The two boys paused. They looked at each other before looking back at Marlow, the younger boy pulling out his knife.

"My name's Marlow. I'm a social worker."

"We don't need one of them." The younger boy snapped. "We already got one."

"You mean, Kurtz."

The older boy nudged the younger sharply.

"I know him. I work with him." Marlow continued.

"You know him? Then you can talk to him." The older boy growled.

He pushed the gun into Marlow's back. Marlow ignored the metal digging into his spine. He wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling so it didn't shake him as it might have if he was new to this. He let the two boys guide him through the back streets. As they got closer to where the gang was holed up Marlow spotted several boys watching them from various perches along the route, each caressing a variety of weapons they had poorly concealed. Some were clearly home-made, such as a rusty blade secured to a piece of metal with some tape, while others were shop bought, such as guns, knives and hammers.

He was taken to an abandoned warehouse with the large windows smashed in and then poorly covered with tarpaulin. This served to limit the amount of light that poured into the warehouse and the light that did fight its way inside played out in a mottled effect on the wall. A see through panel on the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto the centre of the warehouse. A chair was put in the middle and a man was sat on it, his face hidden in shadow.

A boy, no older than fourteen, was cowered in front of him, tears making a mess on his pale face. His weeps echoed in the building and he was trembling.

"Please, I'm sorry. Please." He cried.

"You've been telling the police all about us. You don't think I know when one of my boys is acting out of character? You think I didn't see you on your phone, texting your 'mum' after every meeting? You're a rat, and rats have to be exterminated." The man told him.

The boy's crying became stronger and he shook his head furiously. "No, please don't. I'll be good, I promise. I won't tell anyone anything."

"I don't believe you, and I can't take any risks." The man got to his feet and stepped forward into the light.

He had changed a lot from the photo Marlow had seen of him. His once shy posture was long gone and he now stood tall and confident, his hand steady as it clenched around the glinting gun. His gaze was now steady and bore into the younger boy's face with no hint of pity or remorse. His blonde hair now closely cut to his head and his once handsome face was twisted in a scowl.

Kurtz didn't even flinch as the sound of the gun shot bounced off of the metal walls and the boy in front of him dropped to the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling around his head.

"Kurtz, this one says he knows you." The older boy escorting Marlow called.

Kurtz turned to face them with narrowed eyes. "Never met him before."

"I'm Charles Marlow. Your boss sent me." Marlow told him.

Kurtz sent a cursory glance at the shiny badge that Oswald had presented him with only the day before and nodded. He motioned for the boys to leave and crossed quickly to Marlow's side, his hand outstretched. Even though he acted like the boys around him, he obviously hadn't been able to rid himself of all the mannerisms from his previous life. Marlow wasn't surprised to feel that his handshake was very firm.

"I thought Dale Jnr was the leader."

"He was, but he died. Without him the gang were lost. They needed someone to guide them, to lead them, and they looked to me. I couldn't leave, they needed me. You know what it's like when they look to you for help." Kurtz explained. "I couldn't leave."

Marlow remained silent. He knew all too well what it was like. Once he had almost found himself standing where Kurtz was. He had been new to social work and his father had just died when he was assigned a gang like Kurtz's, only they were in their twenties. He had been drawn in by a pretty face only a few months younger than he was, and he found a father figure in the gang's leader. He too hadn't been able to leave without help.

He had been led to recognise the signs and the dangerous territory and had left them to return to his job. He had been strong. But not everyone was strong. Here, Kurtz obviously had found the power and the confidence he had lacked before and it was like a drug to him.

Kurtz led him outside and began to lead him around the area that he called his territory. The heart of it was enclosed by tall fences topped with barbed wire, keeping people out of the dark flats and the warehouse the gang called their own. The groups of boys were dotted around the area. Some looked down at them from windows while others stood in a huddle outside. Kurtz strode through the streets like a king.

"They all follow my every order." He told Marlow. "They look to me."

Marlow spotted a tall boy glaring over at Kurtz from a huddle by one of the open doors. "All of them? Surely one or two were not happy that you took command."

"There were a couple, but I made an example of one and no one has challenged me since." Kurtz replied, a cocky smirk on his face.

The tall boy opposite pulled a pistol from his hoodie's pocket. He didn't even look at Marlow. His eyes were fixed on Kurtz with an expression of utter hatred on his face.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable." Marlow said warningly.

Kurtz laughed. "I am king to them. I am god. Even the police don't cross me. They won't hurt me."

It all happened in slow motion. The tall boy raised his gun and aimed it at Kurtz. Another boy shouted out a warning from a window above them. Kurtz turned with anger and reached for his own weapon. There was a bang as the bullet left the gun's muzzle and hurtled towards Kurtz. Marlow moved forward to try and move Kurtz out of harm's way.

But it was too late. Kurtz gasped out as the bullet pierced his chest and he staggered back, falling to the floor. Marlow caught him and gently lowered him, pressing his hand to the wound to stem the flow of blood.

The tall boy had guns and knives pointed at him, but another group of boys rallied behind him, their own weapons at the ready. It was comprised of mainly the older boys in the group and the younger boys shifted nervously at the idea of facing their older counterparts. However Marlow ignored the commotion as his eyes were fixed on Kurtz's paling face.

Kurtz gasped for breath, his eyes wide in terror and pain.

"You'll be fine." Marlow whispered soothingly. "I promise."

A tear leaked from Kurtz's eye. "I only wanted to help."

"I know."

"They needed me."

Kurtz shuddered and stilled, his head lolling to the side limply. Marlow sighed heavily and placed Kurtz on the ground, getting to his feet. As he turned he came face to face with the tall boy, the rest of the boys standing around him. A small group was off to one side, surrounded by the others each with their weapons pointed at them.

"You can leave now." The boy snarled. "You got no business here now."

"What are you going to do to those boys?" Marlow asked, a sinking feeling settling itself in the pit of his stomach.

The boy smirked. "That doesn't concern you. Go, before I change my mind."

He raised his gun and Marlow held up his hands. "Alright."

He turned and walked away, his mind reeling with the events he had just witnessed. He didn't stop as he climbed into his car and drove automatically to the office he had called his base for only a few weeks. He walked inside and straight up to his temporary boss' desk, ignoring all the questions regarding the blood stain on his shirt or the expression on his face.

He slammed his badge down on the boss' desk. "I quit."

"What do you mean you quit. Are you bleeding?"

Marlow turned and walked out of the office.

"Marlow, what happened?" The boss called.

Marlow didn't respond and just continued walking. He returned to his hotel room and packed up. He didn't even stop as he walked to the train station and booked a ticket on the next train. He ignored all the stares at his shirt and just carried on.

He only spoke when he arrived on his sister's doorstep.

"I can't do it anymore."

He fell into her arms and began to cry. All those years he had tried to keep it all locked up inside fell apart and he let it all out. He had failed. He had tried to save Kurtz, but he hadn't been able to. If he hadn't walked away, that could have been him. He just couldn't do it anymore. Mary, his sister, said nothing and just held him, soothingly stroking his back and wondering what had made him crack.

"_I only wanted to help."_

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Please Read and Review. I hope you enjoyed this story :)


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